


Sunrise

by The_Anglophile



Category: The Who
Genre: Angst, LSD'd!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Anglophile/pseuds/The_Anglophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Who's 4 am set at Woodstock, an acid-addled Townshend decides to go for a swim in the lake.   He finds many things there, not the least of which is Roger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with The Who or any of its members, and all real names are mentioned in a strictly fictional context.
> 
> A/N: Written for a prompt at Who_Slash -> http://who-slash.livejournal.com/profile

Woodstock was a sad thing. Pete could see that immediately. These people were fakes, the lot. Hippies rubbed him entirely the wrong way, and he brought this discomforting feeling with him to the stage that night. Their set was slotted for around four am, which didn't bode well at all. Would anyone bother to stay awake to listen? To top things off, some idiot spiked their water before they went on, and the effects only kicked in as Pete was adjusting his amp prior to the first song. The knobs started shifting subtly beneath his fingers, their texture a little too immediate for his liking. He cursed and slammed out the first chord, which wavered in the air in front of him, visibly. A glance at the others and he could see that they were there, too. They'd all just have to deal with it, now, wouldn't they?

More of the crowd was awake than Pete had expected, and their responses only served to deepen his dislike of them. The state he was in was enhancing his negative emotions until he was in a foul mood. One of the cameramen got too close to him, sending orange waves washing aggressively over his legs and guitar, and he gave the man a vicious kick in the chest in response. The cameras kept a safe distance from him after that.

Keith looked like a volcano from Pete's perspective, his bright red shirt flaring like flame as his arms multiplied until he had one for every drum. Keith and the drums were a single being, Pete realised, and he watched with fascination the way the sound erupted from this sprawling creature in bright bursts. He felt a distant happiness that Keith was finally the way he was meant to be, but then he wondered why his guitar wasn't part of _him_. He returned his attention to his own playing, feeling the music surge out of him to collide and mesh with the sounds coming from the other three, the massive net of music hurtling outwards to cover the miles of people in front of them.

No, his guitar wasn't part of him. It was alive, electric, and powerful in his arms - something he had to dominate. The harder he beat it, the louder it sang. If he squeezed its neck thusly, it responded like a lover. His guitar was sexual and animalistic, its dark red body glowing against him. He tried to draw it into himself, but it wouldn't coalesce with him, and it irritated him that he couldn't achieve this. The guitar seemed grouchy, itself, for it growled vibrantly at him.

Its growl became too guttural, so he turned back to his amp to make adjustments. An unfamiliar voice issued out of the speakers as he did this, and in confused irritation he swung around to see what was going on. Some black-haired little ape was chattering into his microphone. _His_ microphone.

"Fuck off!" Pete roared. "Fuck off my fucking stage!" His chest surged with sudden rage at this invasion and he lifted his guitar and slammed its headstock into the back of the invader's head, bayonet-style, knocking him off the stage into the mud below. Pete raged inwardly over this throughout the next song, and at its end shouted a heartfelt death-threat at anyone considering another visit to his stage. The stupid hippies thought he was joking and laughed, so he told them otherwise.

The music barrelled onward without further incident, sounds lighting up the darkness beyond the stage as Pete tried to break his guitar of its wildness with continued beating. A bad gig, a bad crowd, and a bad trip. The night's redeeming moment came as the band reached musical climax with See Me, Feel Me. Pete hadn't taken any special notice of his singer until that point, and what finally drew his attention were the first rays of the morning sun piercing the darkness to softly touch Roger's face.

Roger's eyes widened as the sun poured onto him, and Pete could only imagine how it must feel to summon the dawn with one's voice, as Roger was doing. Pete's side of the stage was still cloaked in darkness, and he wished that Roger would send some of the sunlight to him.

 

_See me_   
_Feel me_   
_Touch me_   
_Heal me_

 

Pete heard his words issuing golden from Roger's throat, and watched as the fringe on Roger's sleeves became white feathers, fluttering in the cool air. A feeling of serenity overtook him and he played his hymn to the rising sun, stretching it out in glowing amber strings across the sky, feeling that his chest might burst from the perfect beauty of the music at that moment.

 

Stumbling off the stage, the spell was broken and Pete and Roger bitched at each other and rowed over the worst points of the gig. Once past the rainbow-spattered bridge that led to the performers' private area, they stamped off in separate directions, Pete heading towards the darkness of the woods in front of him. He noticed Keith wandering into the trees as well, and wondered what mischief he was up to.

John, ever sensible, was likely chilling out having some breakfast in the performers' pavilion, or maybe getting some much-needed sleep. Pete could never sleep after a gig like this one, or any gig, really. Playing a show was like having an electric current run through his entire body, and the electricity lasted long after the final applause died away, leaving him jumpy and tense for hours. Which was a major reason why he partied with Keith. Keith was mad; he would party for days on end for absolutely no reason, forgetting to eat, and drinking like a fish the entire time. Pete didn't have quite the Dionysian drive that Keith did, but what else was there to do at 3 am when one's muscles just wanted to keep moving, and one's brain wouldn't turn off?

Just like his brain wouldn’t turn off now. The trip was distracting him greatly and he wanted to be alone for a while to clear his head. The ground beneath his feet was now moving disturbingly, each step he took sending a rolling hummock out in front of him, so he tried to concentrate on the trees themselves as he entered the cool shade beneath their boughs. The trees were decidedly friendly, he thought, and he reached out to touch as many of them as he could as he went past. Their bark had an incredible texture he'd never noticed before, so he stopped to have a detailed feel of it, running hands over the rough, ridgy exteriors of the giant plants. He shook his head and decided to move on when he started to feel personalities in the trees through their bark. That was too much this early in the morning. The birds were already doing his head in with their incredible dawn chorus.

He blundered onward through the trees, battling the entirely too mobile ground, and, having no special goal as to where he went, wandered until he came upon a tree with several signposts nailed to it. The path which crossed his current course was labelled "Groovy Way", to his right ran the "Gentle Path”, and to his left and slightly downhill ran the “High Way”. He felt vaguely like Alice in Wonderland as he considered his options. Well, there was clearly only one option for him. He oriented himself in the appropriate direction and made off down the High Way.

It wasn’t long before a gap in the trees revealed the glittering of water, and he went straight towards it, knowing what he’d found. It was Leon’s Lake, or as he thought would be a more apt name, the Hippie Bathtub. He'd seen people skinny-dipping earlier in the day when it was blazing hot, and the water had looked wonderfully inviting. Up close it looked somewhat muddy and, well, like a lake. But the water would still be cool, and mud or not, it was definitely cleaner-looking than he felt at the moment. He was vaguely aware of wetness on his fingers and absently wiped his hand on his jumpsuit. The stinging that followed in his fingertips brought a look of surprised recognition, and he raised his hand to look at the inevitable damage. It didn't matter how many times he did it to himself, he still felt slightly shocked to see blood oozing from his fingertips after a gig. Even in the absence of a trip, he was never aware of the actual moment that he broke the skin, being too absorbed in playing, so it always managed to come as a surprise.

The examination of his fingertips was followed by a craning of the neck to get a better look at the seat of his jumpsuit, where he'd been wiping his hand throughout the show. Sure enough, the white fabric was smeared darkly with blood in multiple places.

"You look like you're on the rag, son," a voice called out.

Keith. Who else. Pete turned to get a better look at his bandmate as he marched through the trees. "And you look like a drowned dog," he retorted, with a small smirk. Keith's hair was plastered to his face with sweat and his clothes were so saturated he looked like he'd been caught out in the rain.

“Just you wait a few seconds and the look will be complete!” Keith said as he strode towards the water. An item of clothing came off with each step he took until he was clothed in nothing but his skin, at which point he leapt into the water with a yell. Pete smiled at his friend's complete lack of constraint and considered briefly whether he ought to jump in with his clothes on, or follow Keith's example. He felt positively grimy, and seeing as about 45% of the population at the festival was naked at any given moment, he didn't think it would be especially remarkable for him to run around unclothed for a bit. He stumbled out of his shoes and peeled off the jumpsuit, slinging it over a tree branch, then he walked over to the edge of the bank that rose up from the water, feeling suddenly chilled as the morning air touched his bare skin. He wrapped his arms around himself for a moment while he examined the water below, and then, seeing an opportunity present itself, he jumped in feet-first with a loud hoot.

Just as he'd planned, he was able to grab Keith and pull him under, and a bout of water-wrestling ensued with both of them getting dunked and using each other as flotation devices multiple times. Pete won by virtue of his size, though Keith continued to put up an admirable fight, and, tired with their battle, Pete shoved him away and went to find his own stretch of water. Pete treaded water for a few minutes as he looked toward the far shore where a few people were splashing together in the sunlight. His side of the lake was still shaded by the trees. The people looked almost like a painting at this distance; just blobs of colour indicating arms and legs, with an idyllic pastoral backdrop to finish the scene. It may have been a mostly crap gig, but perhaps this portion of the morning would make up for that. His trip was certainly improving, gilding the edges of things with shimmering luminescence instead of sending disturbing ripples at him. The emotional waves were evening out now, too, and he felt suddenly certain that there was a benevolent spirit inhabiting the lake, who enjoyed having company.

Pete filled his lungs, stretched out on his back and floated. He blinked water out of his eyes and stared up at the sky with its rolling bank of clouds in the east, pierced with sunbeams, and deep summer blue straight overhead, grey darkness passing away in the west. A bird flitted over, and its flight was marked with little twirling wing-beats that hovered delicately in the air for a few moments before evaporating. Yes, his trip was definitely improving.

He floated a little longer, then righted himself and glanced around for Keith. It wasn’t Keith he spied now, but, very unexpectedly, Roger. He was a bit further down the bank from where Pete and Keith had leapt in, standing on a large, flat rock at the water’s edge. He hadn’t yet seemed to notice his bandmates’ presence. As Pete watched, Roger examined the water, and, finding it suitable, began to strip off. First, the fringed jacket that had transformed into wings onstage. This he hung carefully on a tree. Next, the necklace and shoes. And finally the leather trousers, which joined their companion on the branch.

He turned and paused a moment, looking at the water once more, and Pete felt an uncomfortable mixture of emotions surge up as he gazed at the bronzed, muscular body, the perfect image of a Greek sculpture, and so very different from his own. He himself was white, long and skinny, all legs, and deep envy briefly subjugated his other emotions as he stared, before a rather more disconcerting feeling settled in. He watched as Roger positioned himself and then made a near-perfect shallow dive into the water, his golden hair flashing brilliantly as the sun caught it. Pete didn’t even realise he was staring until Keith reappeared.

“Hey, nancy-boy, have you found your heart’s desire?” Pete’s fascination was broken.

“Shut up!” he said, and turned his attention to ducking Keith under the water. This resulted in a new water-wrestling match, with Keith coming out the winner by clinging monkey-like to Pete’s back and weighing him down until he spluttered for mercy. After this, Keith decided he was cold and went to sit on the bank to dry off, so Pete looked around for Roger. At first he couldn't see him anywhere and he had a sudden, horrible feeling that Roger had drowned. Starting to panic, he began to swim over to where he'd last seen Roger, when quite abruptly a star burst out of the water in front of him.

No, it wasn't a star. It had just looked very much like one. It was Roger, and he was shaking innumerable glittering drops of water from his hair. Pete was startled into silence by the strange transformation that had just taken place before him, and it took Roger a moment to notice him there.

"There you are!" Roger said, smiling, their earlier row plainly forgotten. "I wanted to show you something, but I think it might be gone now."

"What was it?" Pete asked.

"Something magical lives in this lake. Have you seen it? It looks sort of like a... an eel, or a snake. But it's golden. It's very fast."

Pete smiled. So Roger knew about it, too. "No, I haven't seen it, but I knew it was here."

"It must have touched you and you didn't notice. You're glowing, you know."

"Am I?" Pete asked in surprise, looking curiously at his hands. He didn't notice that his skin looked any different than normal, but perhaps one couldn't see oneself glowing; only others, he thought.

"You were glowing on stage, too, but this is different," Roger confirmed, "Then you looked like you might burst into flames. I was afraid that you would, actually, and it would ruin the gig." He paused and looked at Pete appraisingly. "Now you look... what's the word for it?"

Pete had no idea how he looked to Roger, he realised. He hoped he didn't look the way he looked to himself. This scrutiny was starting to feel unpleasant.

"...Blessed. That's how you look." Roger decided. "Yes, it must have touched you."

"Let's look for it," Pete suggested, wanting the intensity of Roger's attention on something other than himself.

"Good idea!" Roger agreed. "Maybe four eyes can find it, if not two." Pete had no idea how long they spent swimming around, seeking this mysterious magical being. They both thought they saw it several times and dove to try to catch it, but came up with nothing. Once, they saw it together and dove at the same time. Upon returning to the surface, they looked at each other and Pete felt Roger asking him if he caught it. He didn't say a word, but Pete got the question anyway and shook his head. They both realised at the same moment what they'd just done, and laughed with amazement, still looking into each other's eyes. Pete 'told' Roger he was done searching and Roger agreed and they both turned to swim in to the shore.

"This is incredible!" Pete exclaimed.

They climbed up on the bank at the spot Roger's clothes were hung, and Pete went to look for his own clothing while Roger sat on the large rock to let himself dry off. When Pete got back to the tree he'd hung his jumpsuit on, he discovered bare branches, and he realised with annoyance that Keith must have hidden his clothes. Thankfully it didn't take long to discover the hiding spot - a large and rather obvious knothole in a nearby tree. When he pulled the jumpsuit out, something dropped to the ground with a metallic jingle. He looked to see what it was, and was confounded by a large gold cross and chain in a little pile on the ground. He'd completely forgotten putting it in his jumpsuit pocket before the gig. He picked it up and fastened it around his neck, then gathered his clothes under one arm, being too wet still to dress, and wandered back to where Roger was sitting.

He put his bundle of clothes down and seated himself next to Roger, who was staring out across the water peacefully. Roger turned to look at him when he sat down, and immediately noticed the necklace. He reached over and picked up the cross to get a better look at it. The disconcerting feeling rose again in Pete when Roger's fingers brushed his chest. His heart started to beat a little faster.

"What's this?" Roger asked of the cross, "I thought Christianity wasn't in your bag?"

"It's not," Pete replied honestly. What could he say about it? "I just liked the necklace."

"I like it too," Roger said, running his fingers over the hammered design on the metal's surface. He put it back down against Pete's skin and returned his gaze to the water.

"Hey," Pete said to him, "Let's see if we can't talk to each other the way we were doing in the water."

Roger agreed and they turned to sit facing each other, and looked into each other's eyes, blue into blue. Pete didn't get any messages this time, but after a few minutes he started to feel really strange indeed, like he was melting into Roger. He almost felt as though he was inhabiting two bodies at the same time. "Are you...?" he asked.

"Yeah," Roger nodded emphatically. They sat and continued their eye contact, sharing a smile when they reached some new level of intertwinement. Eventually a bird broke their concentration by flying close overhead, chirping loudly, and Roger looked up after it, startled.

"Have you ever done that before?" Pete asked when the bird had moved on.

"No, have you?"

"No. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Completely," Roger agreed.

They both turned to face the water and sat in amiable silence together. This kind of peace and harmony between the two of them was rare, and Pete was really enjoying it. The sunshine was warming the air around them now, but Pete couldn't explain the feeling that was flowing through him. It was sort of warm, and restless, and pleasurable. He couldn't imagine sitting anywhere else other than where he was at that very moment. He glanced at Roger and the feeling intensified.

“Here,” he said, reaching behind his neck to undo the clasp of his necklace, “This will look better on you than me.” He handed Roger the chain, the gold cross glittering as it swung free. Roger fastened the chain around his neck and examined the cross with a smile of approval. He then looked up over the water, and in Pete’s eyes he quite suddenly seemed complete. The gold of the necklace was echoed in the golden curls, blue eyes gazing across blue water. Even Roger’s skin was a shade of gold in the morning light, and Pete had to stop himself staring too long. He felt a rush of warmth rise to the surface of his skin, and he lowered his eyes and turned away from the golden vision sitting next to him. For once, it was a good thing that he could never get it up when he was tripping.

After another minute or two, Roger rose and went to retrieve his clothes. He didn't notice Pete's surreptitious glances as he dressed, for which Pete was glad. Fringed leather back in place, new necklace sharing space with his old one, Roger looked at Pete. "Thanks for this, mate," he said smiling, indicating the cross. "I'll see you back at the hotel." Pete returned the smile and nodded. He was glad Roger didn't know the full story of the cross.

The secret was that he had actually bought the necklace for Roger’s birthday many months ago, but they'd had a row that day and afterward Pete hadn’t recovered the courage needed to give it to him. But he couldn’t make himself get rid of it, either, so he’d worn it round his own neck, under his clothes, where no one would ask about it. He’d looked at himself in the mirror, wearing it, but on a skinny, gangling, dark-haired creature like himself it simply looked gaudy and tasteless. Only a son of Apollo could pull off such a conspicuous piece of jewellery. And did he ever, Pete thought, as he watched Roger disappearing up the hill into the trees.

Once Roger was gone, Pete decided he ought to get going, too. He was finally starting to feel tired, and he was at a point in his trip where he thought he might be able to get a little sleep. He pulled his clothes on and trudged up the hillside, looking around vainly for the signpost indicating that he was on the High Way. All the trees looked the same. He brushed through some bushes and suddenly came upon a pair of nude lovers kissing on a blanket on the ground. This was an all-too-common sight not only at the festival, but in just about any well-secluded public park these days, and he wouldn’t have paid them much notice if a particular detail hadn’t caught his eye: they were both men. He gazed at them in surprised curiosity for a moment as they looked back at him with wariness and what he thought must have been fear. What did they expect him to do? Beat them up? If only they could see inside of me, he thought a little sadly.

He then did something that hitherto he had thought of as being completely cheesy and insincere, but which now seemed to fit just right: he flashed them a peace sign, smiled, and walked on.

 

 

**The End.**  



End file.
